A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes
by LaylaLucky
Summary: Draco has been having some strange dreams lately. What desires lie in his heart? Drarry.
1. What Do Serpents Dreams Contain?

**Do you ever get that "I have to write NOW" feeling? Well, I do, and this was the product. M for later chapters. Yaoi. Drarry.****  
><strong>**I don't own Harry Potter.**

Draco Malfoy sat in his usual seat at the Slytherin table on the far side of the Great Hall. The enormous room was bustling with eager Hogwarts students, who were filling their bellies with rich breakfast foods and betting on the outcome of the upcoming Quidditch match. The pale Slytherin was oblivious to his housemates surrounding him, sipping mindlessly on his coffee. He closed his eyes, trying to focus on the bitterness of the dark liquid rather than the haunting images from his most recent bout of unnerving dreams. A shiver ran down his spine, unnoticed by the rest of the table.

"Snap out of it, Malfoy!" Graham Montague snapped his fingers inches from where Draco held his coffee mug. "Merlin, are you deaf?"

Draco looked around. Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy were all staring at him, along with Montague. He shot the Quidditch captain a perplexed look.

"What are you lot staring at me for?" Draco snapped, setting his mug assertively on the mahogany table. Montague rolled his eyes.

"I asked, plenty of times now, if you were prepared for today's match. We're playing Gryffindor, first game of the season! Eat up, seeker. You'll need all the energy you can muster if you want to outshine Potter and his Firebolt." Montague began scooping giant mounds of eggs and bacon onto Draco's previously empty plate, too preoccupied to notice the blond's jaw twitch at the mention of Gryffindor's most valuable team member.

"Potter…" Draco muttered to himself. His eyes darted across the dining hall to the Gryffindor table, where Harry was sitting with his friends Ron and Hermione. Draco quickly took into account Harry's disheveled black locks and bright, energetic smile. He narrowed his eyes at the Boy-Who-Lived, annoyed at the fact that Harry showed no concern for the match ahead. Perhaps he thought he already had it in the bag? Draco scoffed and picked his coffee cup back up. "I'll deal with him myself."

Draco was in a rather irritable mood, which was saying something considering his everyday demeanor could be described as such. The last thing he needed was a bunch of morons staring stupidly at him while he was trying to gain some peace of mind. "Do I have something on my face?" He spat at Crabbe and Goyle, who both shook their heads rapidly before returning to their heaping plates of food. Pansy, however, continued to look at him. Draco narrowed his eyes at her.

"There's something bothering you." She blinked, not reacting to Draco's cold stare.

"Yeah, I've got a bunch of prats staring at me and ruining my breakfast." He said; his icy gaze unfaltering.

"Whatever your problem is, don't go biting our heads off for it." Pansy said back, not surprised when Draco said nothing in response. He was very grateful when the girl turned her attention to Millicent Bulstrode, who was busy gloating about her cat, which seemed to have learned to open doors on its own.

"I'm not hungry, thanks." Draco pushed his plate (full of food, courteous of Montague) away and stood to leave. He had too much on his mind to eat.

As he was heading for the door, Draco felt a pair of eyes on his back. He whipped his head around and immediately locked gazes with Harry Potter. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up as his nemesis's eyes bore into his skull. Hate radiated between the two and Draco, feeling particularly uncomfortable, sneered at Harry before turning around and heading out of the Great Hall.

Draco stormed down the empty corridor toward the Slytherin's common room, adrenaline pumping through his blood. Seeing Harry, looking into his eyes, only made the silver-eyed boy remember exactly why he only averaged three hours of sleep per night.

It wasn't the fact that Harry showed up in his dreams that bothered him. The truth was that Draco dreamt of Harry quite often. It usually involved besting the notorious Gryffindor at, well, everything. In one dream, the two houses were playing against each other in an electrifying Quidditch match. Harry bolted after the Snitch, only to have Draco snatch it at a hair's breath away from his fingers. Draco relished in the Gryffindor's downtrodden looks as he was handed the Quidditch Cup.

In another dream, Draco egged Harry on and on in Potions class: throwing beetles, writing taunting notes, and other annoying acts of the like until Harry snapped and Snape gave him a weeks worth of detention. Draco laughed and Harry cried.

Yes, the green eyed boy tended to show up often, and Malfoy loved putting him down, even if it was only in his dreams. Lately, however, the dreams had taken a different, abnormal course. The first dream occurred just a few weeks ago, after a particularly rowdy Potions lesson. Snape had partnered Harry and Draco to make a Shrinking Potion, and the two bickered all class period, purposefully trying to get on each others' nerves with every move. Afterwards, Draco had come back to the dormitories for a power nap before Transfiguration.

As soon as his head hit the pillow, he was back in the Potions dungeon with Harry; alone. The boys were sitting at a lab station in the center of the room, shredding shrivelfigs for a potion that Malfoy couldn't remember. On a particularly rutted one, Harry desperately hacked at the poor shrivelfig, knocking Draco's elbow. Draco's silver eyes widened as his tool slipped, cutting the palm of his hand. Instead of yelling at Harry, like every fiber of his being was screaming at him to do, he just watched as his blood (an unnatural amount, considering it was a dream) oozed from his hand. Harry, instead of laughing like Draco would have in his shoes, jumped immediately on the Slytherin's hand with a towel. He dabbed at the blood, spitting out frantic 'I'm sorry's. His lips formed a worried pout, and Draco couldn't help but focus on that pout instead of his injury. His heart rate increased as he felt Harry's hands holding his own. The air in the dungeon shifted as the Gryffindor's eyes met his.  
>"Forgive me?" Apology dripped from Harry's voice, and Draco saw the worry in his gaze. Suddenly, their lips met and Draco woke up, sweating.<p>

Draco made his way to his dorm, stopping to stand in front of the full length mirror across from his bed. The bags under his eyes were darkening, much to his dismay. His looks meant everything to him, and it really upset Draco to know that bright green eyes were diminishing his marblesque features.  
>He sighed, recalling last night's dream, which had been the worst yet. The two boys were hidden amongst the most concealed rows of books in the library. Their shirts were unbuttoned and their ties were askew, robes forgotten to the side. Draco was hovering over Harry, who was lying face up on the floor. His fingers were tangled in the boy's already tousled hair, and he lent down in a feverish need to taste the boy's pink lips. Their tongues wrestled and the two groaned with need.<p>

When Draco recalled the dream, parts stirred of him that he'd rather not think about. He had considered being with a man before, particularly after his nasty break-up with Pansy when he told her he just wasn't attracted to her. When he thought about it, a man's body felt quite more desirable than a woman's, more natural. But Potter? Why would he be attracted to him, of all people? It made so little sense, in so many ways.

Draco ran his hands through his hair, then patted it right back into place. He would reflect on what an emotional mess he was later. He gathered his schoolbooks and turned around, starting towards the door.

"I'll just keep my nose in the books until the match this afternoon. Keep my mind on school, and off of him."

"That's the ticket, dear." The mirror replied lazily.

**Let me know what you think! Hopefully there will be an update soon. I hope to get some writing done in college tomorrow. (Oh, that just sounds awful of me. Bad student.) **


	2. Don't Swallow the Balls

**When I started to write this chapter, I had no idea it was going to go this way. I'm about 68% sure that someone whispered this story to me in my sleep, and I'm just the messenger. Haha. Enjoy :]**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.**

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><p>Draco sat at a table on the right side of the library. He was surrounded by his textbooks and slightly battered rolls of parchment. He had successfully immersed himself in his Potions essay (The Pros and Cons of Using Felix Felicis) and was scrawling his work haphazardly onto the parchment in front of him. Already over the required length by three-and-a-half inches, this was some of his best work yet.<p>

Draco set his quill down and rubbed at the back of his aching neck. Yes, the essay was good, but it was incredibly sloppy; nowhere near the quality of his usually neat script. He'd have to rewrite the entire thing. Grumbling, Draco reached over to his book bag and grabbed his last roll of unused parchment. As he did, he saw three all too familiar Gryffindors entering the library.

Up until now, Draco had succeeded in pushing all thoughts of Harry to the back of his mind. Now, he froze, staring at the object of his recent affection. All of the thoughts he had tried so hard to contain all came flooding back in an instant, threatening his cheeks with a twinge of pink. Ron said something and Harry and Hermione laughed heartily. Draco felt a pang of envy deep in his gut. He wanted to make Harry laugh.

He realized too late that the trio was walking his way, and that the Weasley was staring at him.

"What are you gawking at, Malfoy?" At Ron's words, Harry and Hermione turned to look at Draco. "Already planning ways to knock Harry off of his broom?"

"Potter seems to fall off his broom enough on his own," Draco sneered, eyes blazing. "He doesn't need my help." Hermione glared daggers at him, and he couldn't stop his next words from flying out of his mouth. "And tell the mudblood that if she continues to glower at me, her ugly little face will freeze that way."

"Why, you—" Ron moved a little, as if to lunge at the sneering Slytherin, but Draco saw Harry's hand move behind Ron's back, no doubt to grab his robes.

"He's not worth it." Harry said, looking straight into Draco's eyes. Draco's stomach churned as he noticed, for the first time, what a _brilliant_ shade of green Harry's pupils coveted. "If you've got something to say," Harry started, to Draco this time. "You can say it to my ass while you're chasing it for the Snitch." And with that, the three walked a few tables away to work.

"Clever." Draco thought to himself. Rebutting would have been useless, and would have only made Harry mad. The pale blond realized now that a rise out of Harry was not what he wanted. Well, not _that_ kind of rise…

Draco rubbed his eyes. There were those thoughts again. He looked up and saw that, from where he was sitting, Harry was facing him. His lips formed a pink line of concentration as he poured over what Draco assumed was the same essay he was working on. He took into account the way Harry's long eyelashes rested on his cheeks and wished, more than anything, that he could assist the boy in his essay. It was obvious that he didn't have a clue where to start by the look of his blank sheet of parchment.

Draco stood up and felt Harry's eyes flicker to him at the scrape of his chair across the floor. He made a show of putting his Potions book, label-side out, and the parchment into his bag. Then, he left the library books he had been using on the corner of the desk, taking care to let the outer labels face Harry. When all was set, he turned and left.

Standing outside the door, he looked at Harry through the tiny window above the doorknob. In a few minutes, Draco watched his plan come to fruition. Harry looked up at the door before glancing at the pile of discarded books. He walked over and grabbed them, taking them back to his seat. After thumbing through the first one for a few minutes, Draco saw Harry begin to write.

"Mission accomplished." Draco said to himself, smirking.

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><p>"Okay, team. I hope you've all prepared yourselves?" Montague paced in front of his team in the locker rooms. He seemed to be the only one really concerned with the match. Pucey, Warrington, and Bletchley were all looking at him in a bored way. Derrick and Bole were too busy trying to whack each other with their Beater's clubs. Draco was clutching his broom tightly to his chest, looking at the floor. "LISTEN!"<p>

The rest of the team jumped at Montague's exclamation. Bletchley almost fell off of the bench, and Derrick dropped his club.

"I don't care what we have to do," Montague hissed at the team, continuing his slow pace, his hands behind his back. "I don't care whose bones you break, who you hit with the Bludgers, or who you knock off of their brooms; just _get the Quaffle through the goal post._" The team nodded together in understanding. "And Malfoy," Montague turned to him, looking every bit as serious as his tone indicated. "Keep. Potter. _Away_. Get to the Snitch before he does." Draco nodded and his stomach did back flips. "The House Cup _will_ be ours this year."

The way he said this made Draco think. Perhaps Montague felt that they were entitled to the trophy? Draco wasn't sure that he felt the same way.

As Montague discussed ways to cheat and get off scott-free with the rest of the team, Draco gulped nervously.

"Why am I so jumpy? Quidditch is the one thing that calms my nerves. Potter is really screwing with me." Draco thought. He wondered what Harry would say if he saw the state he was in right now, nerves shot to hell. The poor Slytherin could see it clearly in his mind.

"What's the matter, Malfoy?" Harry would say, taunting him. "Afraid of flying with a Firebolt?"

How Draco hated that broom, mainly because it was something Harry had that he didn't.

Each head snapped to attention when the Hogwart's March began to play. The pitch roared with excited applause.

"This is it," Montague shouldered his broom. "Make me proud."

The team followed single-file out of the locker rooms, Draco bringing up the rear.

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><p>"On my whistle. 3…2…1…"<p>

Draco smirked at Harry as the whistle blew and the teams kicked off into the air. Draco immediately began circling the pitch, half listening to Lee Jordan's commentary, half keeping an eye out for anything golden.

"Katie with the ball…" The commentator spoke. "Passes to Angelina, who speeds up the field." Draco vaguely saw Bole smash a boulder in her direction.

"A NARROW MISS! Oh, Montague has stolen the Quaffle! Better pay attention in the face of death, Angelina!

"Montague speeds down the pitch, flanked by both Derrick and Bole. He's headed towards the goal. He shoots! OH NO, SLYTHERIN SCORES!"

A rally of 'boo's, far surpassing the volume of the Slytherin's cheers, emerged from the crowd. Draco scowled. He had seen no sign of the Snitch, and neither had Harry from the look of things. Draco flew around and around, and in the time it took for Slytherin to score four more goals, and Gryffindor three, he still had seen no sign of the golden ball.

"You sure you didn't swallow it, Potter?" Draco chirped as the two Seekers passed, referring to Harry's first game.

"Want me to come over there and pull it out from behind your ear again?" Harry retorted, looking at Draco. The two smirked at each other and held eye contact for a long time until a Bludger screamed through the space between them. Suddenly, they both remembered what they were doing.

Draco looked and looked and looked for that damned ball. Just as he was thinking about calling a time out, he saw it: A small glimmer of gold above the grass near the Gryffindor goal posts. He immediately put on as much speed as his Nimbus would muster and dived for the ball, knowing Harry would be hot on his heels.

Draco's suspicions were confirmed; he could hear Harry gaining on him. The Snitch was thirty feet away and the boys were neck and neck, the stadium a screaming blur around them. Just when Draco thought the Firebolt wouldn't fly any faster, Harry put on a last burst of speed, shooting forward past Draco. The disheartened blond knew the game was over before Harry closed his hand around the Snitch. Draco slowed to a halt and looked up at the victorious seeker, who looked back at him with a smirk. Draco opened his mouth to say something smart, but stopped cold seeing a look of horror on Harry's face. Draco looked over his shoulder to see what was draining the color from his rival's face. The last thing the Slytherin saw was a large, black, angry Bludger barreling toward him.

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><p><strong>I don't know about you, but I'm just loving all of the innuendos I slipped in there. Update soon? Maybe, maybe.<strong>


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